


Wine Waiter at Persepolis

by Eigon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26303182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eigon/pseuds/Eigon
Summary: It was only meant to be a little bit of mischief.  Alexander rarely allowed himself to get drunk – so Crawley was curious.  What would happen if he did drink a little too much one evening?He wasn't expecting the whole palace to burn down.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Wine Waiter at Persepolis

**Author's Note:**

> Alexander the Great was responsible for the destruction of the palace of Persepolis in a great fire. He was drunk at the time.  
> The story is set before Crowley decided to change his name.

Susa was the winter capital of the Babylonian Empire, the place Darius came when he was tired of Babylon. It was one of the most luxurious places in the Empire, so of course Crawley had organised things so that he had a comfortable little suite of rooms there, under the guise of being a functionary of the Imperial Court. None of the humans were quite able to work out exactly what rank or position he held, and nobody had been curious enough, or brave enough, to ask, which left Crawley free to do as he liked. He wore Persian court robes in black and red, and had even cultivated a long beard, curled in the Persian style, and he blended in.  
He was meant to be encouraging sin in the world, and in Susa the humans almost made it too easy. The Persian Court was shamelessly decadent – vice, debauchery, deceit, and gluttony were commonplace, and all done with impeccable courtly manners. Crawley hardly had to do anything, really. Occasionally he would smooth the way for corrupt officials to meet the people who already wanted to give them a bribe, or arrange private parties for guests who had specific requirements when it came to sexual matters – all very discreet, of course, and all paving the road to Hell for the participants.  
It was so easy it was almost boring – but it was more than enough to keep his bosses in Hell happy.   
Of course, all good things come to an end, but it was still a nasty surprise when the messenger arrived with news that Alexander the Great was advancing on them with his Greek and Macedonian army. He'd already defeated King Darius in battle at Issus, where he had captured Darius' wife, two daughters, and his mother Sisygambus. Rumour had it that he had taken over Darius's campaign tent, and the first thing he had done there was take a bath in Darius's own private bath.   
Crawley had been vaguely aware of Alexander's advance for some time, but so far it hadn't disturbed the decadent lifestyle of Susa unduly. It seemed that was about to change.  
Then he got a visit from Duke Hastur.  
Hastur was also dressed in Persian court robes, but his were filthy – he smelled as if he'd rolled in a dung heap while wearing them. "New orders from Below," he said, after he'd gone through the ritual formality of reciting the Deeds of the Day. "Our Master doesn't much like the way this Alexander is carrying on – he's too much the clean-cut, heroic type, and he's getting too successful. So it's up to you to do something about it."  
Crawley raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Like what?" he asked.  
"Tempt him into doing something that'll tarnish his image," Hastur said, as if explaining to a small child. "You're supposed to be good at thinking of things – so get on with it."  
"I'll see what I can do," Crawley said.  
"You'll do better than that," Hastur assured him. There was a distinct 'or else' implied at the end of that sentence.  
Crawley smiled, insincerely. "Leave it with me," he said.

Not long after Hastur had given his orders, Alexander and his army came to Susa, and Crawley got his first good look at the subject of his forthcoming temptation.  
The Macedonian general rode into the city, surrounded by his generals, at the head of his army, and there was next to no resistance from the Persians. The Greeks took up residence at the palace, so it was easy for Crawley to observe Alexander.  
What he first noticed was how short the Macedonian was. It hadn't been obvious when he was riding into the city, but as soon as he dismounted his generals towered over him. He even needed a footstool when he sat in the Imperial throne, so that his legs didn't dangle like a child's. Darius was much taller and more imposing (but Darius had run away from battle and was hiding at Ecbatana, and Alexander was sitting on Darius's throne in Susa). Also, Alexander kept himself clean shaven, which added to the appearance of youth, along with his carelessly tumbled blond hair. It wasn't just an appearance of youth – Alexander was twenty six, and already the foremost military strategist of his generation, and perhaps of generations to come. He'd been winning battles since the age of sixteen, after all.  
So it would be a mistake to under-estimate him – as the Persians had found. It wasn't just his military expertise, either. Alexander simply oozed charisma. He had only to enter a room and all eyes were on him. His men were fiercely loyal – so there was no chance of fomenting dissent among them and causing a mutiny.  
Lust was usually an easy temptation to try with powerful men – but the more Crawley investigated the possibilities, the harder it seemed it would be to carry off successfully in this case.  
For a start, Alexander had been courtesy itself to the Queen Mother, Sisygambus and Darius' wife and daughters. Indeed, he had treated them almost as members of his own family, which was not the expected behaviour of a conqueror to the womenfolk of his enemy.  
Nor could Crawley tempt him with some pretty young woman around the court. Alexander, it seemed, only had eyes for his childhood friend and second-in-command, Hephaestion, and Hephaestion clearly adored Alexander in return. It would take some serious work to drive a wedge between those two, and Crawley wasn't sure it would be worth the effort of trying.  
Lust was, therefore, out as a tactic.  
Drink, though – that was a possibility. The Macedonian high command had been giving Darius' wine cellars a hammering, and those boys didn't water their wine, but Crawley had never seen Alexander get drunk. He'd have a cup of wine with a meal, or while relaxing in the evening – but never more than one.   
Crawley started to wonder – what would happen if Alexander got drunk?  
It seemed like a fairly easy temptation to try – and a fairly harmless one. If Hell wasn't satisfied with the results, he could always try something else later.  
He didn't have time to put his plan into action in Susa – Alexander's army was quickly mobilised to head along the Royal Road to Persepolis, the ceremonial centre and palace where Darius usually celebrated the New Year. Crawley got rid of the Persian beard and slipped into the military column disguised as a Greek officer. He wasn't a great fan of long distance horse riding, but it was better than long distance walking any day.  
Persepolis had been built along the same lines as Susa but was, if possible, even more magnificent. The buildings were of grey limestone, with many columns holding up the beautifully painted ceilings. The walls were carved with bas-reliefs of men of many nations bringing tribute to the King, and decorated with pictures of lions, bulls and flowers. The oak and cedar of the roof beams came from Lebanon.   
The Macedonians had never seen anything like it. It made the palace of Philip of Macedon look like a rustic cottage in comparison.  
Not long after the army arrived, Crawley saw his opportunity. A feast was planned in the Throne Room, and it was an easy matter for Crawley to mingle with the servants, and always have a jug of wine at hand.  
He spent the evening unobtrusively topping up Alexander's cup of wine. So far, everything was going very smoothly.  
Then he became aware of some raised voices further down the hall, from one of the Greek women. Like all armies, Alexander's had brought along the usual rabble of camp followers, including the women who followed their men to the wars. Some of those women were the consorts of officers, and one of them was complaining vociferously. "It's not right for them to have all this luxury," she said, waving her wine cup around at the magnificent room. "They burned Athens! Why shouldn't we burn their palace?"  
If anyone in the room had been sober at that point, Crawley thought, they might have pointed out that the Greeks owned the Persian palace now, so why would they want to burn down something that belonged to them? He looked around him – no, there were only drunken idiots here.  
"Thais is right," one of them said. "Athens was full of beautiful temples, and the Persians destroyed them. They should have a taste of their own medicine!"  
More voices were raised in agreement. "We should light torches," one of them said. "Let's burn this whole place down!"  
"Wait! Not so hasty, lads!" For a moment, Crawley thought that the older officer was going to stop the young hotheads – but he was just as drunk as the rest of them. "This will be no ordinary fire – this deed is worthy of Alexander alone!"   
Crawley glanced towards Alexander. He was no longer lounging on his couch; he was sitting up, ready for action, his eyes shining. "Bring the torches then!" he shouted. "And form a victory procession in honour of Dionysus!"  
The women who had been playing flutes and pipes, and singing, formed up in a procession, and the men followed them outside. Crawley went with them. They gathered outside, dancing and singing, and someone brought lit torches.  
Crawley watched Alexander whirl a torch around his head and throw it into the Throne Room. Thais was the second to throw a torch, and then everyone who could get hold of a torch was whirling them around their heads and throwing them into the building.  
The roof, and some of the columns, were made of cedar, and they went up like – well, like a torch.  
When the main part of the palace was well alight, men started to arrive from the army encampment. At first they came to help to put out the fire, but when they saw it had been lit deliberately, they stayed to join the party – and some of them headed off to loot the city.

Crawley made his way down the wide steps and away from the dancing, cheering crowd. Hastur and Ligur were waiting for him at the bottom.  
"I like a good fire, me," Hastur said.  
"Didn't think you were going to get round to doing anything," Ligur said. "You were taking so long thinking about it we thought you might need a little reminder of your duty – but this," he waved his hand towards the flames, "this is outstanding work."  
"Yay, me!" Crawley said faintly. He felt – stunned, was probably the best word for it. He turned to watch the fire so Hastur and Ligur wouldn't see the complicated emotions crossing his face. He'd just wanted to see Alexander get drunk – he'd never expected anything like this to happen.


End file.
